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He leaned back against the cushions. “Good. Your first appointment is at one o’clock. I’ll drive you there.”
I arched a brow at him. I should have been surprised, but honestly, I wasn’t. “You already made an appointment?”
He smirked. “You were going one way or the other, Logan.”
I sighed. “No wonder Spencer is such a good boy.”
I quietly laughed when he choked on his oatmeal. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered.
* * *
I couldn’t stop bouncing my knee as I scrolled through my group messages with Ezra and Spencer, debating if I should text them and spill my fears or man up and deal with this on my own. But fuck, I was freaking out. If Jaxon wasn’t sitting beside me, ready to jerk me back into my seat the second I got ready to sprint out of the sterile reception area, I’d have bolted right down the road the minute we got here.
“Just text them already,” Jaxon muttered.
I arched a brow at him. “Shouldn’t you be one of those parents who don’t condone texting during class?”
He rolled his eyes at me and sighed in exasperation. “Just text them, Logan.”
I chewed on my lower lip before shakily typing out a message, feeling sick to my stomach.
Logan: Jaxon is forcing me to see a therapist. I’m here now, and I’m freaking the fuck out.
Ezra: Breathe, baby.
Spencer: Therapy is good, Logan. And you’re strong.
Three dots appeared, showing that Spencer was typing. I waited as patiently as I could, which wasn’t much, both of my knees bouncing now. My hands were sweating, and I had to tighten my grip around my phone to keep from dropping it.
Spencer: I went to therapy when my mom passed away. And Dad forced me to go when he found out I was being bullied. Therapy helped me.
My jaw clenched at the thought of someone bullying my sweet boy. I didn’t fucking like it.
Logan: Someone fucking bullied you? Give me names.
Ezra: Why tf didn’t I know anything about this, Spence?
Spencer: Jesus Christ, you two are acting like it happened yesterday. This was at my old school. I haven’t been bullied since moving here. Stop being psychos.
Logan: I’m not a psycho. I just love you.
Spencer: And I love you. But you’re still a psycho. *wink emoji*
Ezra: Is this a new form of foreplay? I like it.
Logan: Fuck yeah.
All three of us knew foreplay was off the table for a while, though. I couldn’t even get my dick hard right now. A mere peck on the lips threatened to send me spiraling.
God, I was so fucked up. How the fuck was therapy expected to help me?
“Logan Barefield?” I jerked my head up, locking my phone at the same time. A woman with blonde, wavy hair and blue eyes framed by thick, black-rimmed glasses smiled warmly at me from an open door. “Come with me please.”
I was going to throw up.
“You’re going to be okay,” Jaxon quietly assured me. “I’ll be right here waiting on you.”
I jerkily nodded my head and stood up on wobbly legs before dragging my feet to where the therapist was waiting for me. Her smile was kind, and there was no hint of the judgment I was used to when people saw the bruises littering my body, assuming I’d done something to get my ass kicked just by the way I dressed.
